Photo credit: Rainstorm at Miango Rest Home, Nigeria. Courtesy of Tabitha Plueddemann.

You will be secure, because there is hope; you will look about you and take your rest in safety. (Job 11:18 NIV)

The heavy tropical rain beat like a drum on the tin roof of the school building. Its rhythmic ratta-tat-tat soothed my spirit and fed my daydreams while it drowned out all other classroom noise.

My first-grade teacher raised her voice. “School is over for the week, Children,” she said, “and I have some exciting news for Debbie Jones. Your dad is here, waiting for you in the office!”

I jumped out of my seat, threw my hands above my head, and shouted with glee. “Yippee! My Daddy’s here! Yippee! Yippee!” After shoving my papers into my desk drawer, I skipped past my friends in the aisle as they cheered, then raced out the door and down the hall.

Just before the big front screen door, I turned into the office. There sat Daddy and standing next to him, my little brothers, Mark and Grant. We bunched together and I held them tight. Finally, Larry arrived, and after he hugged us all, Grant clutched his hand and wouldn’t let go.

As we left the office, Dad said, “We’re all staying together in a cottage at Miango Rest Home, right next to KA. Your sister Cindy, was born last week, and tomorrow I’ll drive you into Jos to see her.”

I clapped my hands, and Larry said, “I can’t wait to hold my little sister!”

In the dorm, I stuffed clothes into my suitcase and giggled with my roommates. “I get to live at MRH for now, but I’ll come over for school on Monday,” I said. “The best news of all is, I have a baby sister!”

At dinner we sat together at a long table with another family. The MRH dining room was much smaller than KA’s and felt more home-like. When I told Dad that I didn’t want to eat my peas, he asked me to take three bites, then he scraped them onto his plate. My tummy relaxed for the first time since I’d been here for school.

In the bungalow, we got into our jammies and Dad read us a Bible story from the favorite book we used at Egbe. He tucked my covers around me and kissed the top of my head. It felt like home.

Stormy Beginnings

The next morning, I woke to the steady sound of rain on the roof and the musty smell of wet earth. I dressed quickly, and we raced to the big house for toast and orange juice. The boys had porridge too, but Dad said I didn’t have to eat any.

Then Larry, Mark, Grant, and I waited on the front porch. Soon Dad drove up with the borrowed, blue VW bug, and we climbed in.

After a few minutes watching the windshield wipers flap back and forth, Larry spoke from the back seat. “I’ve been to Jos before. I was born there and so was Mark. But Debbie, you were born in America.”

I pointed out my window and asked, “Is that Camel Rock? It looks blurry because of all the rain.”

Dad glanced quickly and nodded, then concentrated dodging potholes on the muddy road. “It looks like we’re coming up to a big gully,” he said, and we pulled up to the embankment.

“The uncle told me that sometimes when it rains there is too much water in the gully. Is it safe for us to go through, Daddy?” I asked.

“I’m sure we can make it.” Dad inched the car down toward the stream.
Suddenly, the car jerked to a stop.

Dad pushed on the gas pedal and tried to back up. Then he revved the engine and tried to go forward, but the VW bug didn’t budge. He closed his eyes and sighed.  “I think we’re stuck in the mud.”

Just then a lorry approached from the other side. Some big men got out of the truck to talk to Dad. Then, surrounding the car, they pushed and grunted, pushed and grunted. Before long, we were over the ridge and on the road. The men laughed and shook Dad’s hand through the open window, and he thanked them. 

As we continued the slow, winding, rainy drive, I turned in my seat to see how the boys were doing. Little Grant looked cozy, nestled between his older brothers. “Tell me about when Grant was born,” I said to Larry.

My older brother grinned and put his arm around the little guy’s shoulders. “He was born on my sixth birthday,” Larry said. “He surprised us and came a whole month early, right at Egbe.”

Larry dug his fingers into Grant’s middle, and the two-year old laughed and squirmed in his seat.

“You were the best birthday present I ever got,” Larry said with a grin.

After another half hour or so, the grass, brush, and hills gave way to city life. Houses with mud walls and tin roofs appeared along the roadside. Soon the view out my window was crowded with small houses of gray cement blocks, some painted white, some left bare.

Lots of cars and lorries crammed together in the streets, honking, like goats bleating in a pen. People walking or riding on bicycles bustled along both sides of the road and even cut across through the traffic.

Wearing short-sleeved button-up shirts and loose, flowing pants, Nigerian men rode bicycles to their farms or shops. Women on their way to market carried heavy loads on their heads: firewood tied with rope, or pans filled with bananas, mangoes, or smelly, dried fish.

One smiling lady, dressed in a typical, bright orange-and-yellow blouse and wrap-around skirt, called to us, “Please, Suh. Buy my mangoes. Dey be sweet-sweet.”

Dad waved politely and then looked back at the rutted road. “We’re almost to the hospital,” he said.

My Own Little Baby

When we arrived at the hospital, Dad stopped close to the entrance, pulled up the brake, and turned to me. “How are you feeling, Debbie?”

I took a deep breath and rubbed my tummy. “Since we drove so slow, I didn’t get carsick,” I said. “Can we go in now and see baby Cindy?”

We scurried through the downpour into the waiting room, and our wet shoes made puddles on the tiled floor. I scrunched up my nose at the antiseptic smell.

“Welcome, Mr. Jones!” A smiling nurse in a white dress and cap shook Dad’s hand. “We have a happy surprise for you.” She led us down a bright hallway and pushed open a door on the right. We crowded through behind her. There sat Mom, a big smile on her face, propped up in her bed.

In her arms she held a wadded-up bundle of cloth. Peeking out from the blankets was the pink, wrinkled face of my new baby sister.

We took turns holding Cindy, while we sat in a chair, and the nurse helped us. As I looked into her tiny brown eyes, I saw a reflection of myself, and my heart flip-flopped with love for her. Eventually, the nurse took the baby and said, “I’m going to put her in the nursery. Do you want to see where she sleeps?”

Dad and the boys followed, but I stayed behind. “What do you think of your new sister?” Mom asked and held her hands out to me.

I stood on my tiptoes at her bedside, lay my head on her chest, and she rested an arm around my shoulders. “I love Cindy!” I said. “But I didn’t get to hold her long enough.”

Mom patted my hand. “You’ll get to hold her lots next week when we come out to Miango Rest Home.”

After a while, Dad returned and said to Mom. “The rain stopped, and I think it’s time to return to MRH. We want to get back while there’s plenty of daylight.”

Safe Passage

When we got to the gully, Dad exclaimed, “Praise God! There’s not much water left and, look! Someone placed two planks across the bottom. We can cross easily.”

Then I breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, Daddy, I’m so glad! I was worried”

Rays of sunlight shone through the storm clouds on the rest of the drive and God seemed to be celebrating with us. When we finally arrived at MRH, we heard the bell ring for supper. 

Once back in our bungalow, fed and happy, we took turns in the bathtub. Then we all sat on Daddy’s big bed while he read us another favorite Bible story.

After the prayer, Dad tucked me in bed. “That was a scary drive,” I said. “But I’m so happy, Daddy! I get to stay at MRH with you and the boys for two whole weeks, and Mommy will bring Cindy soon.”

“I wish we could live here forever,” I said. Then I pulled the covers up to my chin and sighed happily as Daddy turned out the light.

“I’ll remember my sister’s birthday for the rest of my life! April 23rd, 1966.”

Looking Back

Adjacent to KA was the Miango Rest Home, known to all as MRH, a conference center with vacation cottages where missionaries came at various times throughout the year to rest. My parents usually came to vacation at MRH in April, to break up that long spring semester.

Living with my family in the cottage was heaven on earth. I loved eating meals together and especially enjoyed tea time in the afternoon. It was a relief to me to have a choice over what I put on my plate, and at breakfast, we had complete control to choose from what was offered. Because there were fewer rules and limitations at MRH, I felt freed from the tight band of fear that clenched my chest every day at school.

April of my first-grade year, and Larry’s second grade, coincided with the birth of Cindy when Mark was 5 ½ and Grant was 2. My dad, his hands full with four kids, had a challenging time keeping track of us. I don’t think it was a relaxing vacation for him!

I often wished to have my parents move up to school. Perhaps as dorm parents, or as teachers, and we would live in teacher’s row. Better yet, I wanted them to work on the MRH compound, my favorite spot in the world. One friend, Lynda Brown, had her parents living there in a cute stone cottage. How I envied her.

Once my mom and dad left for Egbe each spring, I was forbidden to step over the invisible line that marked the border between the two compounds. It felt like the gate to love and laughter clanged shut when their car pulled away.

What I Know Now

Writing these stories is slowly bringing some happy childhood memories to mind. But even these fun times and words of comfort weren’t enough to completely soothe the ongoing pain of separation from family and the rigid structure of dormitory life. The losses and unresolved grief stayed with me throughout my adult life.

I do see that God kept me safe many times. He brought relief when the pain grew too great. And I had my siblings nearby, even though I didn’t get to see them often during the school year.

God’s gift of a baby sister was a needed break from a tough school situation. Her birth brought me hope. I saw there was still innocence in the world and that happy surprises could show up at any time. Cindy has grown to become a dear confidant and life-long friend.

Today is April 23, 2019, and I’m celebrating my sister’s beautiful life. Happy 53rd birthday, Cindy Lou!

Link It to Your Life

When have you felt insecure and unsafe? What kept you alive and sane? Looking back, who helped you or had a kind word for you? What special gift did God provide for you?

Father, thank you that you are my security, and I can find rest in you. Even in times of trouble you’ve kept me safe and I can look to the future with hope.